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“I told you. I didn’t make any money from Chris. I was a friend.”
“But a good word from me could get you closer to Abbot and steady Sub Rosa customers.”
She thinks things over for a moment. Then she writes something down on company stationery and starts to push it across the desk but grabs it back at the last minute. Once she’s torn her name off the paper, she gives it to me. It’s a name.
“What’s this?”
“A name.”
“Lisa Thivierge. The director?”
“Lisa hasn’t directed anything in forty years. Hollywood has a way of forgetting about women when they have the temerity to grow out of their twenties. She can tell you more, though. But she’s old. Be gentle with her.”
“There’s no address.”
“Lisa went into seclusion. No one has seen her in over ten years. Longer, now that I think about it.”
“Any idea who might know where she is?”
“None.”
“Do you have a phone number?”
“Nope.”
I put the paper in my pocket.
“Thanks, I guess.”
“If you find her, don’t tell her I gave you her name.”
“I’m hearing a lot of that lately.”
I get up and head for the door. Before I get there, she calls to me.
“I expect a good word to Abbot.”
“I’ll give him the word all right.”
I have mixed feelings as I drive the Hog home. I don’t like Chanchala and I’m bothered by Chris’s having to hustle for money. But an ex-actor’s options can be limited in L.A., especially if they aren’t as good-looking as they used to be. Chanchala’s setting him up with clients bothers me because she’s lying when she says she didn’t make any money. Chanchala might not have made cash at the time, but she got connections that would pay off big in her real estate business. But Chris—should I feel bad for him? Maybe he enjoyed the work. We all do what we have to to survive. And if Brigitte taught me anything it’s that sex work is work, every bit as real as selling real estate to the absurdly wealthy.
What troubles me more is Stein’s connection to the Zero Lodge, where, as everyone likes reminding me, you have zero chance of getting out alive. Did he try to break away from them? But even if he did, he died in ’79. Why is he back now? It makes me mad, but on the off chance someone knows something I’ll stick around Dan and Juliette’s playpen a while longer. At least Janet will be happy.
After sunset, I take Flicker to Little Cairo through a shadow.
She grins and looks like she doesn’t even notice that the neighborhood is a war zone.
She says, “I haven’t been here in years.”
“You know the place?”
“We used to play Pharaohs here.”
“What’s Pharaohs?”
“It’s like King of the Hill, but with pyramids.”
“Kids.”
